


It's Not Love, My Dear, it's Guilt

by MajorityRim



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Denial, Disassociation, Domestic Fluff, Graphic Imagery, Guilt, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, I've deliberately left out warnings, Jim is dealing with a lot, Losing Grip on Reality, Loss, Loss of time, M/M, Moriarty - Freeform, Unreliable Narrator, doomed domestic bliss, kind of?, not a depiction of schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorityRim/pseuds/MajorityRim
Summary: Jim is happily married to the man he loves. He has a simple life, one without troubles or cares. That is until his boss comes to him with an offer to climb the ranks of the Accounting Firm that he works at, an offer too good to refuse. Then things begin to fall apart.He begins to hear things, see things.There's something sinister lingering just out of sight, and it has its eyes set on Jim. He has a choice to make;the truth or a lie.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	It's Not Love, My Dear, it's Guilt

Jim stands by the window in his lounge and enjoys the fresh coffee that Sebastian has only moments ago made him. The man busies himself in the kitchen while Jim wakes up, he’s making breakfast despite Jim’s assurances that he really doesn’t have to. His husband likes to dote on him, even on days like these when Jim needs to be out the door and at work before most of London has even bothered to roll out of bed. The sun has only just begun to rise, and there’s a fog that sits over the buildings, but even through it, Jim can see other unfortunate Londoners who have already begun their day. Above him and across the street, Jim can see another man dressed in a suit with his morning coffee, his silhouette eerie against the fog lit from the man's home. For a moment it’s as if they’re watching each other, but then Jim turns his attention to another apartment, staring in at the slow start of somebody else’s life. 

Jim pays him neither of them any mind. What happens in other peoples homes is of little importance to him. 

A strong arm wraps around him as Sebastian places a kiss on his cheek, bringing a hot plate of eggs and toast round with a flourish.

“I know you said you didn’t have time, but just a few bites?” Sebastian’s voice is rough with sleep, as it always is this early in the morning. He doesn’t have to rise as early as Jim does, and yet always chooses to. Always starts his morning with lazy kisses and mumbled affection as Jim tries to get ready for the day. The man hasn’t even bothered to put on a shirt, apron over his bare chest, nothing but a pair of tracksuit pants on as he pulls Jim back towards the table to eat. 

“I really don’t have time.” Jim tells him mournfully. Breakfast looks delicious, but he can’t afford to be late. 

“Take big bites then.” Sebastian suggests. He sits the plate down on the table next to his own and takes a seat, tugging Jim down to do the same. Jim relents. He always does. He can’t resist a home-cooked meal, especially not when Sebastian’s looking at him like that, all dopey and in love. He sighs and smiles and sits himself down, eating faster than he ought to as he tries to get as much in him as fast as possible. He’ll regret it later, but not so much that he won’t do it again tomorrow morning. He likes their little routine, even if sometimes it has to be crammed into a quick ten minutes window before Jim has to rush off to the Firm. 

“Will you be late again tonight?” Sebastian asks over his own eggs. Jim shrugs. 

“Maybe. You know how it is. If the boss needs me, I have to stay.” 

“The boss should pay you more if he’s going to make you work so much. You should ask him for that raise.” 

“He’s incredibly skilled at dodging the question anytime I try and get him alone,” Jim replies, checking his watch as he eats another bite. “I swear he’s got some sixth sense that tips him off every time I try and speak with him about it.” 

“Send him an email.” 

“I’m not going to send him an email, Bash. That just gives him even more reason to ignore the request.” 

“Ah, yeah. That’s true.” Sebastian replies through a mouthful. Jim screws up his face as egg falls out of the man's mouth. 

“I need to go.” 

“Give me a kiss before you go?” 

“Needy.” 

“Guilty as charged. Now that kiss?” Jim leans in and kisses Sebastian’s cheek. He refuses to kiss the man’s mouth while there’s egg all over it. 

“I’ll see you tonight.” 

“Love you, Jim.” 

“Love you too, Bash.” 

There’s a pressure that builds in the back of Jim’s head as he says goodbye, but he elects to ignore it. He’ll get to work and raid his desk for some painkillers if it gets worse. Headaches are a part of his life, if he stopped every time he had one he’d never get anything done. 

He catches the tube to the accounting Firm he works at, the large and oppressively grey building stands almost impossibly tall when looking at it from the ground, and Jim’s wondered many times if the thing just keeps going up into the sky indefinitely. It’s impossible of course, but it doesn’t stop the creeping feeling in the back of Jim’s mind that he’s secretly right. Who knows how high it goes? There’s a panel in the elevator that only opens via a key, and in all the years Jim’s worked there he’s only seen it opened twice. He has no idea what might be on those floors that can’t be accessed, but he has had dreams before where they lead to all sorts of grisly things. Obviously, he just needs more sleep, because the idea of a never-ending cooperate building is ridiculous at best. 

Jim makes the journey up to the fifth floor where his desk is and works for about an hour before he needs to reach into his desk for the pain medication. The harsh lights of the office space have done nothing to help, and his eyes already are sore and tired, throbbing in his head as he stares at his computer screen. It’s easy work, but with his building headache, Jim hasn’t achieved much at all. It’s frustrating, mostly because he knows his boss will have something to say about it, even though Jim is easily the best accountant in the building. He takes a moment to try and let his headache pass, leaning back in his chair while he waits for the medication to kick in, Jim closes his eyes, pressing his hands against them to try and rub out the worst of the pain. 

In the darkness, he hears the faint sound of laboured breath. It’s hard to know if it’s just in his head, or if somebody in the office is having a panic attack. Either wouldn’t surprise Jim and he does his best to ignore it. It’s not the first time he’s heard the noise, never loud enough to be a distraction, and never clear enough to know if he’s just hearing neighbours or coworkers, or somebody on the tube. He doesn’t really want to consider what it might mean if it’s all in his head.

Jim blinks his eyes open and the sound fades away as if it were never there, replaced by the sounds of dozens of keyboards and the occasional phone ringing, everything is back to normal. 

And normal is good. Normal is exactly what Jim wants. 

He manages to make it through to lunch before he sees his boss. Don Gardener is a portly man who Jim doubts has ever smiled outside his condescending laugh any time he manages to milk a client for more money than they ought to have paid. His hair has long since receded back to the point where only half his head is covered by the patchy blonde wire on his head. 

“James!” The man comes into Jim’s cubical at the exact moment he was preparing to go off to lunch. “I see you’re not busy.” 

“I was just going to get a bite to eat.” Jim tells the man. He considers telling Don that he prefers Jim but knows it’s a losing battle. He’s fairly sure the man only uses James as some sort of power move as if Jim could at all be intimidated by the fact. He won’t cave into another crying mess like some of the other employees have. Especially not because of Don. 

“So you are free then.” Don nods. “Good to hear, there’s some work that’s come up that require your skills.” 

“Can it wait until after lunch?” Jim asks dryly. He wants to get some fresh air and escape the lights of the office before his headache comes back. 

“I doubt you want to keep upstairs waiting now, do you, James?” It’s a half attempted threat, Don holding the work over Jim’s head, but Jim’s far more interested in what ‘upstairs’ means than if his boss is trying to bully him into doing more work. 

“Upstairs?” He asks, considering taking more pills preemptively. 

“Mn, they want to speak with you. They’ve got a very generous offer.” 

Upstairs. Somebody upstairs wants to talk to Jim. Wants to give Jim a job. Lunch can wait, he’ll have a coffee instead, this isn’t an opportunity that comes up often. 

“How do I get up there?” He asks, standing up and grabbing his things. 

“I’ve got a key. I’ll take you up there now. You must make a good impression James. This opportunity could lead to good things, better things.” Jim is keenly aware of that fact, and he’s sure he can make a good impression. Mathematics is something that comes easy to him, and he could do accounting in his sleep. It’ll be nice to have something that challenges him a little more. 

The pulsing static of a headache comes back as he steps into the elevator, and as Don unlocks the panel and hits a button to send them up higher, that laboured breath comes back. It’s wet now, anguished and struggling, and Jim can’t deny that it’s coming from his head. Don is fine, standing upright and tall like he has something to be proud of, and Jim’s certainly not breathing that heavily. Maybe it’s stress, maybe he’s just worried about the offer he’s about to get and making sure he makes a good impression. 

There’s a gasp, it sounds hauntingly familiar but Jim can’t place why. 

It doesn’t matter, he’s about to get the offer of a lifetime. 

The floor that they arrive at is far nicer than the one that Jim works on. There’s an air of elegance, and Jim has a sudden wave of Dejavu despite the fact he’s never been up on this floor. He follows Don through a set of glass doors and around a corner where men and women in suits far nicer than Jim’s own mill about, vanishing into offices or talking amongst themselves, paying little mind to the visitors to their floor. The prospect of his own office is enough to make Jim forget that uneasy feeling and continue on, Don the whole time talking about his own achievements, about how he had first been invited upstairs. Jim largely ignores it, blocking out the sound until they reach a woman behind a desk at the far end of the floor. 

“We’re here to see Mr Maufe.” Don says as if he’s old friends with the woman behind the desk. She barely glances up at them, ringing through an intercom to the office behind her before granting them permission to enter. As Don confidently leads the way she puts her hand up. 

“He only wants to see him.” She says pointing to Jim. “You can go back downstairs Mr…” 

“Gardener.” Don supplies. The woman hums and indicates for him to leave. 

“You can go, Mr Garrener.” Jim’s not sure if she’s deliberately used the wrong name or if she simply misheard him, but it brings a smile to his face as Don leaves, rejected and unwanted. Serves him right for calling him James for the year and a half. The woman nods at Jim and he heads in alone, pushing the heavy wooden door open to a large office, ornately designed and decorated, and to one end a large wooden desk, the man behind it almost engulfed by it. 

“Jim, I believe.” The Maufe says as he stands, extending his hand out well before Jim has the chance to cross the room and shake it. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, it’s good to finally meet.” Maufe is a thin man, tall and bony as if he’s nothing more than bone standing before Jim, but his smile is warm and welcoming, even if a little intimidating. 

“It’s good to meet you too,” Jim says, finally making it across the room and shake the man's hand. “I’m excited to hear what work you have to offer me.” 

“Eager!” Maufe laughs. “That’s good, that’s good! We need more workers like you here.” He sits and indicates that Jim should do the same, drumming his fingers on the table before picking up a file. He doesn’t hand it over to Jim just yet, holding it out of reach, but it’s obvious what he means to do with it. 

“You like your job here, don’t you?” He asks.

“I do.” Jim nods. 

“And somebody as eager as you would obviously love the opportunity to climb up the ranks. A nice pay rise perhaps, and your own office.” 

“It sounds wonderful. I’m always after new opportunities.” Jim agrees. His eyes are fixed on the file. Maufe’s are fixed on Jim. 

“Good. This here is the chance of a lifetime. A big client with a lot of needs, a lot of money to handle. Finances for all sorts of things, you understand.” 

“Of course. I can handle it.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Maufe pauses for a moment, considering his next words carefully. “This is a different sort of client, however. It requires a little more sensitivity than usual. Privacy. You understand of course.” 

“I never talk about clients outside of work.” Jim assures. 

“You wouldn’t be able to speak about this one at all.” Maufe supplies. “Complete secrecy is required.” 

“Would it just be me working on the fiances then?” Jim asks. “I don’t mind, I can handle the workload around other clients.” 

“Oh no, this would be your only client. Our client has requested as much.” Jim frowns at that but doesn’t complain. The opportunity is still an amazing one, it doesn’t matter if his workload drops a little, if anything it would be good, he’d be able to spend more time with Sebastian. 

“That’s fine with me. More attention for the client means a happier client, I understand that.” 

“Good lad.” Maufe nods. “Now, before I show you this, I just need your word that you won’t tell anybody about what I’m about to show you.” 

“Of course.” Jim nods without even thinking about it. “You have my word. I won’t tell a soul.” Maufe nods and hands the file over. When Jim opens it his stomach drops. 

Stephan Myers is a high ranking member of the London underground, the kingpin of it all. 

“I-” Jim fumbles his words, not sure what to say. “Is this legal work?” 

“It’s well-paying work,” Maufe tells him. “That’s the important part. I’ve seen your file, Jim, you’re very good at what you do, the best even. Your talents are wasted all the way downstairs, you should be up here with us.” 

“I don’t know.” Jim replies hesitantly. It’s a fantastic offer. The money will be great, the work will be challenging. But it’s illegal. 

Some part of Jim is thrilled at that notion, but a larger part just feels sick. 

“Have the day to think about it.” Maufe offers. “You can come up first thing tomorrow morning with your answer.” Jim nods numbly at the offer, still torn between wanting the work and knowing what it means. He stands up, reaching out to shake Maufes hand, and Jim can’t help but feel as if it’s slick with blood. That’s what it’ll be like after all, there’ll be blood on his hands if he takes the job, he’s sure of it.

“Thank you for the offer.” He says. It sounds hollow. He walks himself to the door on autopilot to see himself out. 

“Oh, and one more thing, Jim,” Maufe says cheerfully. Jim turns around to face the man. 

“Don’t tell anybody about this. I’m sure I don’t have to warn you why.” 

“Of course.” Jim lets himself out. As he makes his way to the elevator it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He stands pressed against the elevator wall as he rapidly mashes the button back down to his floor as if it can make the elevator move any faster, the walls closing in around him as that wet, gasping breath comes back, pressing down on the inside of his mind like a heavy blanket trying to drown him in the sea. 

Jim isn’t sure how he makes it back to his desk. He’s not sure what happens the rest of the day as he works. He barely even remembers getting home to his front door. The only thing he does know is that awful sound doesn’t leave until he barrels into the lounge and sees Sebastian stood there looking concerned. 

“Excited to see me, Jim?” He jokes, but it’s clear that the man is worried. “Everything alright?” 

‘It is now’ Jim wants to say. Instead, he says “An interesting day at work, is all.” 

Sebastian grins at him, always fond of listening to whatever gripe Jim has. He’s always been a good listener, letting Jim complain for hours on end about his employees and lack of opportunities, and the man automatically moves to the couch expecting the same now. Jim sits down beside him, but he knows he can’t tell Sebastian what he’s been offered. There’s a pressure in his chest that warns him what he’ll lose by telling Sebastian the truth. 

He’ll lose him, and Jim can’t lose Sebastian. 

“It’s probably not that exciting.” He says as Sebastian slings an arm around his shoulders, lazing on the couch and taking most of it up. “Somebody got their tie stuck in a shredder, we all ended up having to attend one of those safe work practice seminars, only it was led by Don, so you can imagine how that went.” Sebastian laughs, it’s a hearty, heartbreaking sound. Jim doesn’t like to lie to Sebastian. 

“I bet that was painful. Are they at least paying you for your time?” He asks. Jim shrugs, pretending he doesn’t know. 

“Hopefully.”

“What’s the matter?” Sebastian asks, noticing that something is the matter. “Usually your stories have a little more… flare. Did something happen at work? Was it you that got your tie stuck?” 

“No, it was not me.” Jim grumbles. “Like I’d be that stupid.” 

“Then what’s got my little magpie all in a flutter?” 

“I think I’m just coming down with a cold.” 

“That’d do it. You do look kind of pale, even for you.” Sebastian nods. “Want me to make something light for dinner then? You should still eat something, I’m sure you didn’t eat much lunch either.” 

“As long as it’s something small.” Jim nods. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to push my luck.” Sebastian kisses him on the head and stands up, stretching and letting his bones pop before heading to the kitchen. “Did you get a chance to ask about that promotion then? Or was that ruined by the whole tie thing?” 

“I didn’t get a chance,” Jim replies. He wishes the couch would swallow him whole. “I might go have a laydown. Call me when dinner's done.” 

“Alright, love,” Sebastian replies. “And you call me if you need me, alright?” 

“Mn, of course.” He heads to their bedroom. Shuts the door behind him and draws the curtains. As he lays down on the bed, still fully clothed, Jim can hear that distant, wet breathing looming overhead. As he stares up at the room he could swear that he can almost see himself laying there, staring down at the roof like he’s watching the TV. 

‘Jim’ He hears. ‘Jim.’ 

And then a dial tone. Then nothing. 

..

Jim wakes up to the smell of toast and to the radio playing in the kitchen. Some early morning radio host too chipper for the start of the day. He’s in his pyjamas, wrapped up safe and warm in blankets that still hold the warmth of his husband who must have only left moments ago. He doesn’t remember the rest of the night, but he’s almost glad for that. He can hear Sebastian start to sing as a song comes on the radio. It’s soft, muffled by the closed door between them, and it makes Jim’s heartache. He wants to stay in bed forever, wants to forget about the rest of the day and just listen to his husband sing. But he can’t, he knows he can’t. 

It’s not until he gets up and dressed that Jim even remembers the offer he’d been offered. 

He barely contains the sick look that washes over him as he walks into the kitchen. Sebastian watches him with a careful look before offering up a plate of breakfast.

“Still feeling unwell?” Sebastian asks him. Jim nods, taking the plate despite knowing he’s not going to be able to eat anything on it. “Perhaps you should call in sick.” 

“I can’t.” Jim replies. If he doesn’t show up to work, he doesn’t know what will happen. Maybe he should just tell Maufe no. Turn down the offer politely and promise not to say a word. 

But the work would be so much more interesting. And the pay rise would mean he and Sebastian could really start some of their life plans. 

And the work would be so much more interesting. He’s always so bored. His mind constantly wandering, never satisfied with the work that’s available to him. Surely he should have more of a conscious about this sort of thing, surely he shouldn’t even be considering it. What has to be wrong with Jim that his answer isn’t no? 

“Jim?” The look on Sebastian’s face has grown. “Are you alright? You’ve been standing there for ten minutes. Are you sure you can’t call in sick?” He presses his hand to Jim’s head, but of course, he finds no fever. Jim isn’t sick, at least in no way that Sebastian can measure that way. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Jim said. “I’m just nervous. Going to ask Don about that pay rise.” It’ll be a good cover for the pay rise he’ll get for taking on this new client. The perfect cover for different hours. 

He’s going to take that job, no matter how guilty it makes him feel. Something gnaws at him, desperate and needy any time he thinks of saying no. 

Still, the thought is frightful, like he’s making a mistake all over again, only he doesn’t know what that mistake is. 

It’ll be too late before he figures it out. He won’t be able to go back this time, won’t be able to undo the choices he makes. 

..

Jim has managed to bury the guilt by the time he makes it to work. The fact that he’s able to bury it away should be concerning, but Jim’s just relieved that he’s able to meet wit Maufe without looking like he might be sick at any time. He waits in front of the man's office to be called in, picking non-existent lint from his jacket in an attempt to look as presentable as possible. When the door to the office and Jim is invited in, he offers a friendly smile, standing tall as he shakes Maufe’s hand and sits down. 

“So, have you considered the offer?” Maufe asks him. Jim nods. 

“I have. I’d love the opportunity.” 

“Good man. I’m glad you didn’t turn it down.” Maufe says proudly. “The client has come in, it would have been terribly awkward to tell him to leave after he’s come to see us. I doubt I could have found a replacement if you’d have said no.” Part of Jim preens that he’s the only one suited for the job, it helps push away any lingering guilt. “Shall I introduce the two of you, let you get acquainted?” 

Jim suspects that he’s about to be threatened. Given that he’s almost certain the work he’ll be doing is illegal, it wouldn’t surprise him at all if he’s about to be threatened vigorously by some burly man with some sort of weapon. It doesn’t deter him. 

“Let’s go meet him.” 

He stands and is taken through to one of the conference rooms across the office space. Maufe stops at the door, knocking on it and a man calls back in a soft Irish accent. Jim wonders if perhaps that was a contributing factor to why he was picked. 

“Make a good impression now,” Maufe warns Jim. “This isn’t just any old client, you need to do well for the company.” 

“I’ll do my best. Better even.” Jim promises and walks through the door. As he closes it and turns to the client, the whole room fills with an awful static so loud that it feels as if it’s pulling at Jim’s very being. 

That wet gasping sound comes back. Laboured wet breaths hang overhead like a radio playing in a separate room. 

“Hello.” The sharply dressed client says to him. “You must be Jim.” 

If somebody were to ask Jim what the man looked like, he wouldn’t be able to describe it. It’s like looking in a mirror, and yet he’s never seen the man in his life. His face contorts, never twisted or changed, but constantly morphing, like his face itself is the static that roars in Jim’s ears. His lips curl up into the side in a cruel grin as he stands there, drinking Jim in like a predator waiting to pounce. 

Jim shuts his eyes, squeezing them tight as he tries to block whatever it is he’s seeing out. Those wet breaths press down on him, turn to a gurgling gasp croaking out his name as the static swallows him whole. 

And then there’s nothing but silence, and when Jim opens his eyes back up he’s at his desk, things packed up into a box. 

For a moment he panics, assuming that something went terribly wrong in his meeting, but soon enough Maufe is headed over with a grin so large that Jim can’t have possibly made a mistake. 

“Well done in there!” Maufe claps him on the back and Jim nearly drops what he was holding. “I don’t know what you said to him in there but our client was absolutely thrilled to have you on board! Here’s your key to the upper floor. We’ve given you a nice big office to work in.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Jim replies numbly. He has no idea what he said in that meeting either. It worries him that he can’t remember. Mafue hands him a key and slaps him on the back again. 

“You and I are going to get along, I can tell. We’re kindred spirits.” He says. Jim gives a forced laugh and nods as his new boss leaves him to finish packing up his desk. The second Maufe is gone, Jim slumps down in his chair and tries to keep his breathing steady. He can feel a headache building in the back of his head and figures it’d be better to take some pain killers now than to wait for it to hit him completely. 

Opening his desk draw, Jim’s surprised when he finds not a bottle of pills, but a single knife, the type used for hunting with a bone handle wrapped in leather, worn and well used. It’s familiar to him, but he doesn’t know why. 

Slamming his drawer shut, Jim looks in his packed box for his bottle of pills instead, swallowing them down dry. There shouldn’t be a knife of all things in his drawer and he has no idea where it has come from. It has to be a threat from the silent. A warning of what will happen if he speaks to anybody about what he’s doing. 

Something is thrilling about it, and Jim’s not sure if that’s worse than the knife in his desk or not. 

He tries not to dwell on it as he hastily shoves what little things he has left on his desk into the box and heads for the elevator. As he puts the key in, Jim’s heart hammers against his chest, excited or terrified of what’s to come. Perhaps it’s both, Jim honestly cannot tell. 

Jim makes it to his new office, closing the door behind him just as his phone rings. He sets the box down and digs it out of his pocket, seeing Sebastian’s number displayed on the screen. 

“Bash.” He says, relieved to hear from his husband. 

‘Jim’ The voice on the other end of the line is unrecognisable, he has no idea who it’s supposed to be. The breathing is ragged as it speaks again, ‘Jim’ Jim can feel his lungs closing up, panic rising in his throat, there’s a wet gurgle as whoever is on the other line tries to speak his name again but instead chokes on something and-

“Jim?” Sebastian’s voice is full of concern, cutting through whatever it was Jim could hear on the other end. “Are you there?” 

“I’m here,” Jim replies. He swallows down the mounting fear on his chest, sitting down at his desk before his legs give way underneath him. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“I just wanted to let you know I’d be home late tonight. I know we were going to have a movie night, but something’s come up at work and they need me here.” 

“That’s okay, there’s always another night,” Jim tells him. “You’ll just owe me an extra big bowl of popcorn.” 

“Can do.” Sebastian laughs. “Alright, sorry if I interrupted something important. I’ll let you get back to it alright? Oh hey, did you ask for that pay rise?”

“Uh, yep.” Jim lies. “I sure did. There was no problem at all, they gave it to me without a fight.” 

“I told you there was nothing to worry about. We’ll have to go out to celebrate this weekend.” Sebastian sounds so proud, so happy for Jim. 

“I’ve got to go.” He says and hangs up the phone before Sebastian can congratulate him any further. 

— 

Jim is glad when he gets home to an empty house. Not because he doesn’t want to see Sebastian, Jim wants nothing more than to relax after his stressful day, wrapped in his husband's arms, but the idea of walking into some surprise set up by the other man to celebrate the lie Jim has told makes him feel queezy. Not enough that he’d turn down the job, of course, a thought that makes Jim feel guilty enough on its own. He’s tired from all the stress of the day and worried what the blackout between apparently taking the job and getting to his desk means. 

Jim does his best to ignore it. Heats up some leftovers from the fridge and watches the news. There’s some report on a civilian consultant solving some old cold case, but Jim’s headache comes back and he finds that he can’t focus enough to hear anything about the case itself, and he resigns himself to an early night. 

He doesn’t hear Sebastian come in, already long asleep by the time his husband returns. 

Jim does stir during the night. He wakes, his whole body tight and Jim gets a distinct feeling that something is wrong. As he opens his eyes, he sees above him the same knife he found in his desk, suspended above him by a thread, hanging over his head as he stares up at it. He moves slowly, reaching out an arm for Sebastian as he stares up at the knife, glad when his hand wraps around the other man's arm. It’s only a moment of relief, however, and Jim frowns as he feels something wet and slick underneath his fingers, turning his head despite the threat above, to see Sebastian, beaten and bloody, staring back at him. 

‘Jim’

Jim bolts upright in a panic, beside him Sebastian’s hand shoots out to comfort him, a second later his lamp turned on as the man sits up, clearly concerned. 

“Jim? Are you okay?” Jim looks to his husband, clean of any blood and without a single injury. He heaves in deep, panicked breaths as Sebastian tries to work out the best way to calm him down. 

“It was just a nightmare, hey, everything’s alright, Jim,” Sebastian assures him. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.” Jim nods, it’s a tight, jittery action as he tries to detangle himself from sheets that have wrapped themselves around him. 

“I know.” He says, but it just feels like another lie. 

“Why don’t I make us some tea? Settle the nerves a bit, hey?” Sebastian offers. “Come on, come sit out in the kitchen with me.” 

Jim does. Everything will be alright with Sebastian there, it always is. 

—

Jim does manage to get back to sleep that night, though his sleep is fitful, and he certainly doesn’t feel rested come morning. He drags himself from bed and to the bathroom to shower and hopefully wake up some, the hot steam helping to clear his head as he prepares for the day ahead. By the time he steps out of the shower, he hasn’t managed to cure his poor sleep, but he’s certainly feeling better. 

That is at least until he looks at himself in the mirror. Or rather, looks at the person who is supposed to be him in the mirror. He stares at the dark circles underneath his eyes, at the curve of his jaw, at the way that his throat bobs when he swallows and can’t recognise any of it. Worse yet, the longer that Jim stares at himself, the harder it is for him to recognise himself in the mirror until it’s like looking at a complete stranger. Like looking through a window at somebody staring back at him rather than looking at his own reflection. 

He doesn’t know where he is. Something isn’t right. 

His phone rings from the bedroom, it’s shrill tone replaced with a The Bee Gees ‘Stayin’ Alive’ Jim doesn’t move to answer it, but hears it still as it’s picked up. 

‘Jim’ Somebody in pain calls his name. Jim doesn’t know who. 

‘Do it’ He hears a voice say. There’s a wet sound, somebody choking, and then a dial tone. 

—

Jim isn’t sure how he made it through breakfast and to the office without having some sort of breakdown. As he sits at his desk staring at the pile of identical files stacked high on the left-hand side of his desk, Jim isn’t sure how he’s doing anything without having a breakdown. Or maybe he is having a breakdown and that’s what is wrong with him. Maybe he’s slowly losing his mind. It happens, people just go crazy sometimes. Maybe he has a brain tumour and it’s killing him, and that’s why he keeps seeing and hearing things, maybe that’s why he’s lost track of time the last few days. 

There’s a knock at his door. Jim pulls a file down from the stack to make it look as if he’s been doing work this whole time and calls them in. Maufe walks in with that ever pleased smile on his face. 

“I just wanted to see how our newest member to the floor is handling his first day of work.” He says expectantly. Jim can tell by the way he looks down at Jim’s desk that he isn’t entirely pleased, but he doesn’t say anything about it either, that smile never faltering. 

“It’s going well.” Jim lies. It’s all he seems to do these days, though he’s found he’s quite good at it. 

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. Your client's happiness is of the utmost importance.” Jim nods as if to agree. He’s fairly certain he does, even with mixed feelings. He just needs to get into the work, then he’ll be fine. 

“I’ll go straight to you.” Jim promises. Lies. Either one is an acceptable answer. 

“It’s not too much work then?” Maufe looks back to the files Jim is yet to open, then to the file in front of him.

“Not at all,” Jim assures the man. “Just preparing for the day. I should get back to work though.” Maufe to his credit takes the cue and heads back for the door. 

“Of course, of course. Good luck, Jim. Don’t let the Firm down.” 

He leaves, and Jim turns back to the file in front of him. He’s passed the point of no return already, he might as well get the work done. 

As it turns out. Once Jim has begun, it’s easy to brush the guilt aside and work. It’s easy to ignore the moral ramifications of who he’s helping. Jim works out fairly quickly what each payment is meant to be, his client handles massive sums of money, both incoming and outgoing, and though it’s coded, Jim is no fool. He can’t say for sure, but he’s got a good hunch at exactly what the client is involved with and none of it is particularly good by any standard. 

It’s finally challenging work, and it’s thrilling. Jim finds himself writing down notes in the margins of his work, little improvements that would increase profits, suggestions on how to move money faster, on how to bury unsavoury purchases. A better laundering system. He spends most of the day completely engrossed in his work, moving from file to file without ever looking up, and it’s not until the sun begins to set and his office begins to darken that he looks up to check the time. 

And when he does, he’s confronted by the sight of dozens of identical knives stuck into his walls. He’s frozen to the spot by it, staring at the knives that have no way of being there, each one of them with a bone handle wrapped in worn leather, each one of them buried into the wall with such a force that Jim doesn’t know if he could pull them out. As he stares across the room in shock, Jim watches as a thin red line begins to leak from one of the knives, running down the wall in a sluggish straight line. Off to its left, another begins to bleed, and then another, and another, until they’re all leaking blood down onto his floor. 

They begin to pool and then bubble as if the blood itself is trying to breathe. When Jim opens his mouth to speak all he can manage is a croak, pushing himself away from the desk and hitting the window behind him with such force that it shudders violently. 

‘Jim’ Somebody calls from behind him. It sounds almost like Sebastian, as impossible as that is. At the same time, he hears a voice in front of him, whisper-quiet. 

‘Moriarty’ 

What is happening to him? 

Another headache begins to build rapidly, and this time his face aches as if he’s been struck, Jim buries his head in his hands, tries to block out everything, hopes that if he just looks away everything will vanish. 

It does. When Jim moves his hands away from his face the blood and the knives are gone. He checks the time and packs up his things for the afternoon, barrels out the door without leaving room for anybody to talk to him. None of them even try, Jim is thankful for it. 

On his way home on the tube, Jim books himself a doctors appointment. He needs to find out what is wrong with him. He needs it all to stop. He can’t begin to lose his mind the moment he’s presented with something interesting to do. 

—

Unlike the night before, Sebastian is home when Jim gets in. He swoops in and takes Jim in his arms, kisses him first on the top of his head and then his lips, greeting him with every ounce of love that he has. 

“How was work today.” He says between kisses, “Good to finally be working for what you’re worth?”

“It feels the same if I’m honest.” Jim lies. Sebastian laughs and steps away, though he doesn’t let go of Jim completely. 

“Well, I’m glad they’re finally paying you what you should have been paid from the start. I booked us a table for tomorrow night, but for now, I thought we could celebrate with that movie night I promised you. You pick the movie and I’ll make the popcorn. After dinner, of course, gotta feed you or you’d live entirely off coffee.” 

“It’s alright, I’m not that hungry, we can just skip dinner for the popcorn.” 

“I’d put money on the fact that you’ve barely eaten all day. I’ll make something light, a salad, how about that? Something easy on the stomach.” Sebastian offers. Jim knows he’s not going to be able to get away without eating anything. His stomach already feels full though, twisting and turning as he tries not to focus on the things he’s seen and heard the last three days. 

“A salad.” He nods. Sebastian gives him one last kiss on the head and leaves him to head for the kitchen. 

“You go relax, I’ll handle everything. You look like you could use a nap.” Jim could, he’s exhausted. He mumbles something that’s probably supposed to be agreement and shuffles off to the bedroom, closing the door behind him and flopping down onto the bed. If he sleeps he doesn’t register it. Doesn’t dream, thank god he doesn’t dream. Jim isn’t sure he could handle that right now, not again. The only real indication that time has passed is the sound of Sebastian calling him from the kitchen. 

“Dinner’s ready.” He calls. Jim watches himself get out of bed and walk numbly out to the table. He eats, but when he does it doesn’t feel like he’s using his own hands to do so. When he puts food in his mouth it feels artificial. It’s like watching an advertisement, actors putting on a show specifically to sell something to the audience. Look at this everyday couple at their dinner table. They’re happy. They have a good life. Wouldn’t you like a good life too? What would you be willing to trade for what makes you happy? 

Jim was happy. This was all he wanted. 

Only that was a lie. Jim wanted so much more. He wanted the world, and that thought scared him. 

What was he willing to give up for that? 

What was the cost of a happy life at the table with his husband? And what was the cost of a happy life where he felt challenged and engaged in life? 

Jim has a terrible feeling that he couldn’t have one without sacrificing the other. 

He falls asleep during the movie. Sebastian carries him to bed and promises to keep him safe. There’s a murmur against his neck as Sebastian does, like an overlay of sound that muddles whatever it is Sebastian says to him specifically, but both voices are promising to keep him safe. It lulls him into a false sense of security. Because as much as Sebastian would try, he can’t save Jim from his own mind. 

His dream feels like a memory. One where the world is at his feet. It would be triumphant if it weren’t for the loneliness that wraps around Jim as he sits atop a self-constructed throne.

He wakes with the awful feeling of an empty bed and is glad to find Sebastian there beside him when he rolls over. He reaches out to the man, brushes his hair from his face. The movement wakes Sebastian up, and bleary-eyed the man leans into the touch, tilting his head to playfully bite at Jim’s fingers. 

“Mornin’” Sebastian yawns, slinging an arm around Jim to pull him in closer, kissing him still half asleep. Jim winces as he does, his face tender and sore. Sebastian is quick to pull back. “You alright?” He frowns as he looks at Jim, concern across his face. “Shit Jim where’d that bruise come from?” 

Jim reaches up and presses fingers against his eye, sore and swollen flesh protesting as he feels his way against a bad black eye. 

“I don’t know,” Jim replies. “I haven’t hit my face on anything. I don’t know how I’d- how does it look?” 

“Pretty bad.” Sebastian reaches out to cup Jim’s face lightly, careful of his bruise. “Maybe I elbowed you in your sleep?” It doesn’t make much sense, but it makes more sense than anything else Jim can think of to explain the bruise. Still, they’re both light sleepers, Jim is sure at least one of them would have noticed if it had happened like that. It wouldn’t be the first time Sebastian had accidentally smacked Jim in the face with an elbow, and Jim himself sleeps sprawled out with arms like helicopter blades as he rolls, but it always wakes at least one of them. 

“Must have been that.” Jim mumbles. 

“Let me go get some ice for it.” Sebastian hums, climbing out of bed. “You want to go into work today? Or should you take the day off?” 

“No, I should go in.” Jim can’t risk taking days off so soon after getting a new client. He’s worried about what they might think, worried that they’ll assume he’s trying to get out of the work. He doesn’t want to know what will happen if they think he’s suddenly got cold feet. “I’ll have something funny to tell them all at work.” 

“What? My boyfriend elbowed me in the face while we were sleeping? No offence Jim, but that’s not exactly thrilling news.” 

“It is for an accountant.” Jim laughs, but it’s strained. He’ll play it off if Sebastian mentions it. “Some of them live exceptionally boring lives.” 

“You must be the highlight of their day then.” Sebastian calls as he heads to the kitchen to get the ice. Jim forced himself out of bed, following Sebastian out to the kitchen where the man is already wrapping several pieces of ice in a tea towel for Jim’s bruise. 

“They might think I’ve gotten involved with something shady. Perhaps I should make up some elaborate lie. Say a client hit me or something, pretend I’m doing the accounts for some crime lord.” Jim isn’t sure why he says it, maybe it’s so he can offer some sort of truth to all the lies he’s been telling lately. Sebastian doesn’t seem as keen on that joke, freezing for barely a second before he busies himself with the makeshift ice pack. 

“Is that the sort of thing that’d be believable at your Firm, Jim?” He asks. Jim can hear the worry in Sebastian’s tone. “You’re not getting involved in that are you? You don’t need that kind of thing, Jim.” 

“I don’t think anybody needs it, Bash.” Jim counters. 

“I mean it. If you’re bored, or if I dunno, if you think you need the money, there’s other ways.” 

“Of course.” Jim feels sick and that awful feeling of not quite being in his body returns. “No, of course, it was just a joke, Bash.” 

“Don’t let that kind of thing in.” Sebastian warns him. He presses the ice pack to Jim’s face with gentle hands, holds Jim close like he might slip away and vanish. 

“I’m no criminal.” Jim assures him. But that’s a lie, isn’t it? He’s doing a criminal's books, he’s involved with criminal activity. 

“Just stay here with me.” Sebastian pleads. He says it like he already knows what’s going on. 

“I can’t just skip work,” Jim tells him. He knows it isn’t a comforting thing to say, that he could offer some other lie to protect Sebastian, but Jim doesn’t want to. “But tonight I’ll be all yours.” 

Sebastian does eventually let him go. But only after several insistent reminders from Jim that he needs to go to work. As he waits for the tube that morning, Jim can’t help but feel like he’s being watched from all angles. Something is coming, he just doesn’t know how to find out what. 

—

The benefit of having his own office is that there aren’t many opportunities for anybody to ask Jim what happened to his face. It’s something he’s grateful for. He just wants to work, just wants to focus on the accounts and to ignore the rest of the world around him. It’s easy to do, locked away in his office with no real need to leave it. Jim can focus on what he needs to do, can lose himself in the endless stream of numbers and data, occasionally making an idle comment in the margins as to how things could be improved. He pushes through a headache, ignoring the static build-up and works very happily at his desk until a red spot of blood falls from his nose and lands on the form he’s halfway through filling out. 

Confused, Jim brings his hand up to his face. When he presses fingers to his nose he realises that he’s bleeding. 

Jim sits back up, tilting his head back and pinching his nose while he tries to find the tissues on his desk, reaching out for them, accidentally pressing sticky, bloody fingers to another file before he manages to pull the box close and pull out a wad of tissue to try and help with the bleeding. As he does, there’s an eruption of pain, and Jim is sure he hears his nose audibly crack as blood begins to flow more freely. He shouts, unable to stop himself, pushing his chair back to protect what he’d been working on, scrambling for more tissues as he blinks back tears in the hopes of still being able to see clearly enough to work out what to do. 

He can hear voices above him, muffled and angry, shouting about something. Then, clear as day in his left ear, Jim hears another voice. 

‘Don’t speak’ 

Jim doesn’t, though he can’t explain for the life of him why he’d listen to a disembodied voice in his head. He’s too busy trying to keep blood off everything to speak as it is, he’s fairly certain that he’d choke if he tried. The muffled voice above shouts something, and Jim’s ribs burn as if he’s just been struck by something hard. He panics as his mouth begins to well up with blood, as his limbs grow weak and tired. 

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet not yet notyetnotyetNOTYET

Jim is back in his chair. The desk is clear of blood. His nose is still sore, but it’s stopped its bleeding. 

He’s glad for the doctor's appointment tomorrow. Hopefully, they’ll be able to tell him what the hell is going on with him, and hopefully, it’s not something that will kill him. Jim doesn’t want to die, though the prospect of losing his mind is just as scary. 

He turns back to his work. Tries to focus on that once more. He just has to make it through the day and he’ll be fine. Sebastian will give him a lift to the doctors and he’ll be fine. 

Jim manages to get through the day without any more incidents. He goes to the bathroom before he leaves for home, examining his nose. It’s broken, or has been broken and reset he supposes, bent out of shape, red and also swollen to match his black eye. He looks like he’s been in a fight, and not wanting to have to come up with another lie to explain that, hurries out of the office with his head down, avoiding everybody at all costs. He just wants to get back home to Sebastian where he feels safe. 

—

To Jim’s surprise, Sebastian doesn’t make a huge fuss out of his face. His husband looks at it, turns Jim’s face carefully to examine the damage, but doesn’t pester Jim about it. 

“Do you know how it happened?” He asks. Jim doesn’t think to question Sebastian why he wouldn’t know, just shakes his head. Sebastian nods at that and takes a moment to compose himself before he smiles, kisses Jim on the top of the head to avoid any sore parts, and goes on as if nothing has happened. 

“I have us a reservation at that restaurant you like if you still want to go. To celebrate your pay rise, remember? Unless you think you need a quiet night in.” 

“No, let’s go out. I’d like that.” Jim nods, grateful. “I think I need it.” 

He’ll regret that choice, even if it’s not until months down the track. 

Jim sees the client from across the restaurant. It’s as if Jim has been struck by a truck as all at once the world comes crashing to a halt around him. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s not just him, the restaurant has literally frozen. The sounds of chatter and people eating continue over a still room, people have frozen mid-bite with only him and the client able to move. 

Then Jim turns at the sound of Sebastian’s voice, relief flooding him as he sees his husband set down his knife and fork, still moving about. There’s a frustrated look on Sebastian’s face, and he turns to glare daggers into the client who still hasn’t approached them. 

“This wasn’t what we agreed on.” Sebastian says across the room, addressing the client. The client looks up. Jim still can’t make sense of his face but there’s a recognition on Sebastian’s that warns Jim of their impending doom. 

“It’s what I decided.” Jim says. 

What the client says. It’s Jim’s voice but it’s what the client says. The man wipes his face with a napkin, folds it gently and places it on the table. 

“Time’s up.” 

He stands and walks over to join Sebastian and Jim. As he does, his face finally clears on the static. 

Jim stares himself in the face. He stares at Moriarty and tries to understand just what he’s looking at. 

“What’s going on?” He asks them. He turns to Sebastian, but the man is glaring daggers into Moriarty. 

How does he even know that name? Why is it so familiar to him? 

“He brought me back, you know? It was his choice.” Moriarty says. He looks at Jim was a positively gleeful expression, takes in his bruises and laughs. “Besides, there’s not much time left. Too much going on on the outside. So. Time’s up. Time to choose.” 

Moriarty waves his hand carelessly and the whole world drops away from the three of them. They’re left standing in an endless void, nothing but Jim, Moriarty, and Sebastian. 

Sebastian gives Jim a desperate look. 

“Jim I- there’s” 

“Oh hush, you knew this would come eventually.” Moriarty cuts him off. “Time to stop playing house and get back to work.” 

“What do you mean? What’s going on?” Jim demands. Moriarty turns his attention to Jim. He feels as if he’s being swallowed by those empty eyes, they look straight through him, into him. See every part of him he wants to hide away. 

“Do you feel bad because you let him die, or do you feel bad because you can’t bring yourself to care?” Moriarty sneers, he leans over Jim, crowding his space and pressing down on him like a headache building in the back of his head. 

“I- you don’t know how I feel.” Jim bites back but it’s weak. He’s not sure what he’s being accused of, how could anybody know how he feels about it? 

“We both know you can’t feel a thing.” Moriarty is positively giddy as he says it. “Or at least not like normal people can.” His voice overlaps with one Jim hasn’t heard in a long time, the sound of his father's voice making him flinch back. “You’ve got the devil in you boy.” 

“I’ve learnt.” Jim has, hasn’t he? He’s learnt to care, he must have, he needs to have. 

“Learnt to pretend perhaps.” Moriarty’s tone has switched back to conversational, light and welcoming. “But it’s not real, and that makes you angry, doesn’t it? There’s a roar of static so loud that it blocks out whatever is said next. Jim’s glad for it, he doesn’t want to hear how he struggles to be empathetic, to make connections, doesn’t want to hear how he struggles to feel anything for others no matter how hard he tries. 

“But isn’t it easier just to not pretend? Just to be yourself?” 

‘Do what you want with him, he’s replaceable.’ Jim doesn’t remember ever saying those words and yet he knows their exact context. Knows when they were said, why they were said. 

He let Sebastian die. 

There’s a wet gurgling sound. Jim remembers it. A knife dragged across Sebastian’s neck. He had died slowly, choking on his own blood, making sounds that might have been Jim’s name. 

The room goes completely black, not even Moriarty or Sebastian there beside him. Laboured wet breaths fill the empty space, joined quickly by Jim’s own rapid, uncontrollable ones. He’s having a panic attack, but he can’t remember how to calm down. It feels as if hours have passed before he finally can, those awful wet breaths playing overhead the entire time. He’s alone, stuck in this black void, haunted by the sounds of Sebastian dying over the phone. 

“Jim.” 

Sebastian’s voice startles Jim around. His heart aches when he sees him. 

“Everything’s going to be alright.” He says. Jim wants desperately to believe him. 

“Mn, it will be.” Moriarty’s amused tone comes from behind him again and as Jim turns, he finds Sebastian there instead, stood before Moriarty. He looks sullen but alive. It’s a relief and yet fills Jim with dread all the same. 

“You have a choice to make.” Moriarty says before Jim can think to speak. 

“Me or him.” Sebastian supplements. 

“A lie or the truth.” Moriarty adds. Corrects? Jim is unsure of which, or of which man represents which. 

“What am I really choosing?” He asks. 

“Your empire is crumbling out there without you,” Moriarty replies. “It needs its King, the King he died for. But you have to concede that you don’t care that he’s dead. You just feel guilty that you don’t care, and so you’ve run off to this little fantasy world to escape that.” 

“No.” Jim croaks. 

“Or stay with me. We’ll be just fine here, I’ll be alive and we’ll be happy. You can keep feeling things you buried out there.” Sebastian offers. 

His empire, everything he’s ever worked for. Or Sebastian, the man he loves. 

A lie or the truth. Jim just has to work out which one is which. 

“Can’t wait all day, I’m afraid. Somebody is beating the front door. Blank stares won’t work forever, y’know?” Moriarty checks his watch as he speaks. 

“It’s okay, Jim.” Sebastian sounds resigned already like he already knows what choice Jim is going to make. 

“He’s already been left to die once, can’t imagine it matters if he goes a second time.” Moriarty looks absolutely giddy about the fact. They both know Jim will pick Moriarty, they know Jim so well that they can predict Jim’s choice before he even knows who he’ll choose himself. 

He walks forward still uncertain of his choice. Above him, somewhere outside of wherever he is, he can hear the muffled sounds of interrogation. Whether it’s his or Sebastian’s Jim can’t tell, unsure of everything apparently. 

Moriarty holds his hand out, expecting Jim to take it without any hesitation. When Jim does hesitate his expression sours into something ugly and bitter. Jim knows that feeling well, he doesn’t like being denied. 

“Don’t throw away my empire for somebody who is already dead.” He no longer sounds amused by the game being played. “I did not spend years of my life getting here for you to ruin everything.” Sebastian looks just as confused as Jim feels, but doesn’t reach out for him. It’s Jim’s decision to make, Sebastian won’t interfere with that. 

Still, there’s a hopeful look in Sebastian’s eyes. It makes Jim feel sick. 

He can’t look the man in the eye, because Jim can’t tell if he’ll choose Sebastian or not, and he’s not sure he can stomach pretending he loves Sebastian enough to stay. Because Moriarty has to be right about Jim because it’s Jim just the parts of himself that he’s missing? A lie or the truth, that’s what Moriarty has said. 

“It’s okay Jim,” Sebastian tells him. “I won’t hold it against you.” 

Why doesn’t anybody think that he’ll choose Sebastian? 

He wants desperately to take Sebastian's hand. But his hand feels heavy as he tries to lift it. 

He wants to lie to himself and keep pretending with, Sebastian. Jim doesn’t have to go back to that life, he can stop being Moriarty, Just live in his mind forever and have that life that he wants. 

But it wouldn’t be real and Jim knows that. If he stays with Sebastian he’ll die, but if he goes with Moriarty Jim will have to admit that he let Sebastian die because he didn’t care. But he does care, doesn’t he? Jim wants to, he feels like he cares, and he doesn’t want to lose that, doesn’t want to stop caring about the other man. 

“Time to pick an option, Jim.” Moriarty sats. “Those bruises aren’t looking great.” He gestures to Jim’s face, when Jim touches it’s tender, blood on his fingers as he touches his nose. 

“Interrogation,” Sebastian says. “Been going a while now.” 

“But you can’t stay up in here anymore.” Moriarty taps the side of his head. “It’s a nice little escape, but you have work to do.” 

“It’s okay. Consider this a vacation. The holiday I’d always wanted you to go on.” Sebastian smile is so sad. “But you've got to get back, time for Moriarty to get back to his empire.” 

“You’ve both already made my mind up for me.” Jim spits. “Why ask if you’ve already decided?” 

“We’re both you.” Moriarty snorts, laughing at Jim. “Please, you’re smart enough to know what that means.” 

Jim does, he just doesn’t want to face it.

“I’m sorry.” He says to Sebastian as he reaches his hand out to Moriarty. Moriarty grabs his wrist lightening fast, pulling Jim’s eyes from Sebastian to his wrist. He’s surprised when he sees a knife clutched there in his hand. 

“Nah, he’s not at all,” Moriarty tells Sebastian. “He’ll remember that in juuust a second.” Jim’s wrist is pulled up, slashing out with the knife so quick that Jim couldn’t have stopped it if he tried, barely has time to say anything in protest. 

The wet, desperate gasp and Sebastian’s resigned look are the last things that Jim sees before reality is hurtled forward. The void is replaced by a dark room, in front of him is a man with bloodied knuckles, Jim’s own laboured breaths replace Sebastian’s in his mind. 

Interrogation, just as Sebastian has said. 

Jim turns his head only slightly, but it’s enough for the man hitting him to notice and stop. 

“Are you finally willing to talk?” 

Moriarty would recognise that crisp English accent anywhere, Mycroft Holmes sitting in the shadows of the room like some sort of Bond villain. 

He smiles at the man, a cocky grin as he raises his eyebrows at Mycroft, inviting him to offer some sort of incentive. 

It was a nice little holiday, but Moriarty has things to do, people to kill, detectives to destroy. After all, without Sebastian, he has nothing to lose. 

And it’s about time England had a new King.

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly written through the equivalent of whatever a heat exhaustion fever dream would be. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
